


The Apocalypse Should Be Easier

by this_too_shall_pass



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angels and Demons, Gen, Good Omens AU, M/M, Panic, because i shoehorn my faves into places they dont belong, leave me alone, mainly because how tf do you find a beta reader, me??? riding off a trend for hits???? nah, no beta we die like men, roman is crowley, virgil is aziraphale, you dont have to see it to understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_too_shall_pass/pseuds/this_too_shall_pass
Summary: Virgil has done many things, but he has never pretended to be a magician in order to watch the Antichrist get himself a new pet.Until the pet doesn't show up, which has far, far bigger consequences than one would think.





	The Apocalypse Should Be Easier

Virgil had done many things over the course of his very long, very strange existence. He’d lost a flaming sword due to some Edenistic hijinks, been captured by French rebels for trying to get a loaf of authentic bread, and tempted a priest on a bet with a demon. He’d been around the world and off it more time than he could count. He could tell you what Julius Caesar’s _real_ last words were. He knew every star in the sky and all the ones past it. He could say what it was like to be fire, to be water, to be more than everyone around him.

Until this moment, however, he could not have told you what it was like to be a second-bit magician performing ‘magic’ for the Antichrist and his very bored friends.The experience could honestly be summed up in three words: loss of dignity. He desperately tried to get them to pay attention to the bunny he was pulling out of his top hat (included in the Lil’ Magicians Starter Pack™, only 12.99 at Target), and failed miserably. The little buggers just kept scrolling through Instabook, or whatever it was. Virgil was an interdimensional celestial being, but God dammit if he couldn’t keep track of all the mortal inventions within the telephones they’d created a few years back.

“You’re quite a shit magician, you know?” One of the Antichrist’s friends had torn themselves from their phone, “Your stage presence is completely rubbish. My father could do better than you.”

Virgil grit his teeth. Of course the Destroyer would have a bunch of snot-nosed friends. He glanced down at his watch. 2:38, eight more minutes until the boy turned eleven and his hellhound appeared. Just eight more minutes of trying to avoid sucking too much. “Well, child, I’m sure you’d be better equipped to judge my abilities if you were paying attention.” God, the things Virgil would have done to these brats back in the old days, when She was still in her vengeful phase. Unfortunately though, She’d mellowed out once She had a kid, and now it was all ‘no smiting’ and ‘Great Plan’. Honestly, it was almost enough to make Virgil wish he’d joined the Fallen. There’d been a traffic jam on the way to the dissenter’s meeting, and he’d missed the Fall completely. Traffic in heaven was even worse than Los Angeles, and Virgil had been stopped there at the height of it more than a few times. All the transportation bureaucrats had been sent to Hell, and Virgil’s commute had suffered ever since.

Virgil was rudely shaken out of his brief distraction by a piece of cake. More specifically, a slice of three-hundred dollar devil’s food birthday cake, because coincidence was a bitch, and of course that would be the little shit’s favorite. Said piece was thrown into Virgil’s face. Said throwing was done by Remy, which was the name of the Antichrist, because naming children The Antichrist is largely frowned upon. Said throwing was continued by Remy's friends. Much to Virgil’s dismay. He let it continue for a few minutes, hoping they’d burn themselves out, but when they didn’t, he sighed and put down the hat.

“Alright kids, listen up. I’m sure all your parents are nice people, which is odd because all of you are degenerate little monsters. And the only reason I haven’t stormed out of here middle fingers up is because I need those parents to pay me, so if you little snots have even the slightest bit of empathy for human life, you’ll sit the hell down and shut the heaven up, because I’m relying on this gig for this month’s rent, and I will not let that go down the drain because none of you can be bothered to look up from your iGalaxy 10s and realize that I am a person, not a damned monkey here to do a trick.” Virgil whisper-yelled this, lying through his teeth and overly aware of the parents watching from the back of the outdoor tent he was to ‘perform’ in. 

The children looked at each other, and for a moment Virgil hoped that he’d thoroughly admonished them, but alas, he’d forgotten that one particular trait of this era’s youth- the inability to take anything seriously. The gaggle of kids burst out laughing, and Virgil flushed, looking down at his watch. 3:49. Wait, that couldn’t be right. Remy had been born at 3:48. It was written on the walls of End Times, scored into the books of Heaven, burned into the gates of Hell. The child would receive the hellhound on his eleventh birthday exactly, and he would name it, and the naming would begin the apocalypse. So where was the hound? He quickly made eye contact with a man at the back of the crowd, or he would’ve if his eyes weren’t covered in dark sunglasses that hid his eyes completely. Virgil gestured to the watch briefly with a panicked look on his face, and turned back to the children before (hopefully) anyone in the crowd noticed.

He quickly weighed the pros and cons of leaving, despite the fact that he’d just told roughly fifty kids that he couldn’t, but really, what did the opinions of a few little kids matter against a snag in the Great Plan? Not much, but Virgil couldn’t help himself worrying about how they’d feel of him as he dashed out of the tent, running toward his partner in crime’s Bentley, where said partner was already waiting, tossing the keys up and down as he waited for Virgil to reach the car. Seeing him, he unlocked it, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Virgil all but slammed into the passenger seat, panting from his run. (Yes, he was an immortal being. No, that did not mean he had to be fit. Bugger off.) He whipped his head to look at the man in the driver’s seat. 

“Roman, what the fuck? Did you know about this? Is this some trick from your people?” 

“I could ask the same of you, angel. I’m as confused as you are.” The lack of an answer sent Virgil into overdrive.

“Maybe it got held up? They forgot to release it? Remy doesn’t have a name yet? Oh God, we lost the Antichrist’s hellhound. Logan is going to discorporate me, isn’t he? Oh God oh God oh God where is he!?” As he said the last sentence, he turned to Roman, grabbing him by the collar of his leather jacket and all but shook him as he panicked. 

Roman was equally terrified, but as the one who had given the Antichrist to the Sisterhood of The Chattering Nuns to be given to Remy’s family, he had a sneaking suspicion that they hadn’t lost the hellhound, but something even worse. He gently pried Virgil’s hands off of his jacket, handing (heh) them back to Virgil slowly. “Calm down angel, whatever has happened, shaking the spirit out of me won’t help at all. Deep breaths, Vee, can you do that? Logan isn’t going to do anything to you.” Virgil followed Roman’s advice, taking breathing slowly and deeply as he took his hands from where Roman had still been holding them. The pair sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, both of them focusing on Virgil’s breathing.

When he looked significantly calmer, Roman turned to him, trying to figure how best to present his theory to Virgil. “I think I may know what happened.” 

Virgil’s head turned to Roman so fast Roman thought he was teleporting for a second. “What is it? What do you know? Tell me now or so help me I will get Biblical on your ass, divine benevolence or not.”

“See, the thing is, when I was dropping off the baby, there may have been another family delivering, and you know how Satanic nuns are, they’d lose their heads if they weren’t attached, so there is a little chance that something… may have… gone.... wrong.” Roman trailed off under Virgil’s steely gaze.

“What, exactly, are you saying, Roman.” Virgil all but growled in a tone that reminded Roman just how powerful the angel was.

What I’m saying is,” Roman took a deep breath,”we didn’t lose the hell hound.”

“We lost the child.”

\------

About a hundred miles away, an eleven-year-old boy named Thomas took the puppy he’d found in the woods home, and named it Dog.

**Author's Note:**

> oof?
> 
> honestly, seeing as all the sanders sides blogs ive seen on tumblr have a shit ton of gomens on them, im surprised there arent more of these. 
> 
> comments> kudos babes, but everything is great!!!


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